


Light of Lights

by Terminallydepraved



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Biting, Blood, Feeding, Instances of Dubcon, M/M, Mind Control, Rough Sex, Stress, Vampire AU, Virgin Kink, Virgin sacrifices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 13:05:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4607856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terminallydepraved/pseuds/Terminallydepraved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chrollo finds himself at the mercy of a beast. There's only so long a person can run before the beast catches up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light of Lights

**Author's Note:**

> back by popular demand, here we have yet another vampire au! this time its silvakuro and its a bit different from the hisokuro. this can be taken as a prequel to that one but i didnt make much of an effort to maintain continuity. if you wanna read it as one, feel free. enjoy guys~

Pain bloomed across his cheek and the hands only pulled the bindings tighter when he surged up, blood on his teeth and eyes livid. There was no chance for escape, not when he was surrounded and bound, not when the hostile figures around him heckled and jeered like so many wolves hungry for prey.

It wasn’t fair, this wasn’t fair at all and he couldn’t even argue his case. He grit his teeth and fought the villagers but resigned himself to reality; there wasn’t going to be an escape.

The bloody fingers of dusk tore at the horizon and Chrollo knew that he didn’t have long until the wooden cart below him reached the summit. It was disgusting, this ritual the villagers persisted in performing every year. Life was hard, birthrates were low enough as it was and the fact that they still insisted on killing off one of their own every year— well, Chrollo couldn’t really see much of a justification.

He turned his eyes to the entourage around him, the slaughterers walking him to his inevitable demise. They were ones he had called friends, family even, but now they refused to look at him. Some made the sign of the cross over their hearts, murmuring fevered prayers against the crosses they kept around their necks; it was all just superstitious nonsense that encouraged the reasoning behind his current predicament. Chrollo glared, wishing his eyes could suffocate them all and choke the prayers from their lungs.

Not even a thief deserved this. This was not what the Bible had taught them but that was a poor argument when fear ruled logic.

His thrashing caught the attention of a child, a young girl who couldn’t be older than ten. Chrollo grimaced and tried not to think that she could be here, bound and carted like a lamb to the slaughter in just a few years. Her hands were full of flowers as if she were walking in a wedding procession, her own little rosary swinging from her thin neck. She smiled weakly at him and Chrollo tried to smile back, if only to stop the tears he could see collecting in the corners of her eyes.

It didn’t work very well and the tears spilled over. It was heart breaking, more painful than the cords cutting into his wrists and Chrollo whispered to her, promising her it would be okay. He probably wasn’t all that convincing, not with the state he was in, but she cracked a smile anyway.

Looking at the adults around her furtively, she sneaked closer to the barred cart. Chrollo watched her curiously, his eyes widening when she darted in and covered his chest in flowers. It was when she was snatched back, her mother blessing her as if she had touched Satan himself, that he noticed the rosary laying among the petals. He smiled at the girl as she was dragged away, no better for the gift but appreciating her sentiment. None of the other villagers had so much as prayed for him, saving their god for their own sake.

The little girl had more humanity in her than the rest combined.

With some maneuvering he was able to inch the wooden trinket towards his bound hands, clenching it in his fingers. There was little he felt god could do for him now but even false comfort was still comfort all the same.

They reached the top of the mountain before the last inklings of day left the sky and with rough hands Chrollo was carried from the shoddy cart and dragged struggling through the dirt to the heavy door of the castle. The prayers around him seemed to increase in volume, building and mounting until he couldn’t hear his own labored breaths for the noise. Not even the clatter of the heavy door being opened seemed to pierce the din and it was the last thing Chrollo heard before being thrown inside, the dark and damp devouring him as easily as any wild beast ever could.

The last thing he saw was the face of the little girl, half hidden behind her wolf-faced mother, crying into her folded hands before darkness enveloped him completely.

It was silent inside the castle in the way that fear wrought. Every noise was amplified, every little shuffle of rock and creak of wood deafening. Chrollo struggled against the bindings. He had almost freed his ankles when the sound of footfalls echoed around him and sent his heart pounding. There were only rumors, horror tales told late at night to frighten children really, to give him an idea of what was waiting for him in these halls. Images of monsters seemed to leap out from the shadows in the corners of his eyes and Chrollo struggled harder, trying to rip himself from the bonds. A hard jerk sent him rolling to the side, crashing into some sort of stand. There was the sound of shattering glass and Chrollo winced as he was pelted with the broken bits of what must have been a mirror.

A small light flickered into existence and Chrollo froze, eyes fixed on the brightness. His ankles came free in one last mighty jerk and the pain was pushed far from his mind by the voice now teasing the darkness. He couldn’t see a person but his guard was anything but down.

“Hello?” the voice called, the lighting coming ever closer. “Is someone there?”

Chrollo held his breath and weighed his options. His wrists were still tightly bound though the cold sweat covering his body was making it easier to twist and move his hands. With his legs free, he could stand, maybe even run, though with no idea of his present location there was no guarantee he could make it to safety. He kept silent and tried to ease himself onto his knees without rattling the broken glass around him. A large shard near his hand was seized and Chrollo readied himself to fight if he had to.

The voice laughed, so much closer now and Chrollo fought the impulse to shake.

“I know you are here. I can hear you clatter about,” it crooned.

He watched as the floating light grew closer, the faint outline of a figure looming ever nearer. A part of him wished to close his eyes and pretend he was in his bed or with his friends. The cold stone bruising his knees made it impossible to imagine, the cords around his wrists even more so. He’d probably never see either ever again. He would most likely die here, alone, at the hands of a monster imagined by the superstitious lot he had once considered family.

The footfalls echoed louder and Chrollo could now see the outline of the man carrying the candle, the hulking mass of him cutting through the shadows like a knife. He couldn’t place the voice, but he knew for certain that the man was not one of the villagers. It gave him an iota of hope, just a glimmer of faith that maybe this person would take pity on him and set him free. The mirror in his hand dug into his palm, close to slicing the skin.

He swallowed heavily and gathered up the courage to answer. “Pl—please sir, please help me,” he managed to get out steadily enough. “They’ve tied me up and left me here.”

“How horrible,” the man answered, coming closer with the light. “Do not fret, you are safe now little one.”

Chrollo could see the man now in striking detail and he instantly relaxed as he looked into his bright blue eyes. They burned in the darkness, somehow so much more illuminating than the flickering candlelight. The rest of the figure was inconsequential, his mind blurring into one of singular focus. For the first time since he had heard his named called at the village meeting, Chrollo felt at ease.

The man knelt before him and stared back, smiling gently all the while. “Tell me your name, child,” he asked, setting the candle between them to better illuminate Chrollo’s dirty face.

There was no hesitation, no thought to lie or withhold. “Chrollo,” he breathed, leaning forward infinitesimally. A voice in the back of his mind was screaming, warning him to be wary, but for a blessed moment Chrollo was not afraid and he wasn’t ready to relinquish that just yet.

“I am Silva. This is my home, Chrollo,” Silva replied, that mysterious smile still in place. His clothes were regal in appearance but bore the weight of age. “You are a most anticipated guest.”

The detail of his dress set something off in Chrollo, the small voice growing louder through the murky fog currently obscuring his thoughts. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the murk and found it easier to think when he wasn’t looking at those piercing blue eyes.

“I need to leave,” Chrollo whispered, imploring the eyes as tears began to fall from his own. All of the weight of his situation seemed to coalesce in that moment, robbing him of what strength he had left. When the man, Silva, came closer, he couldn’t help but lean into his cool touch.

Silva hushed him gently, stroking his fingers along Chrollo’s cheek in an icy gesture of comfort. “But why, child? You can remain here, with me. You are so beautiful,” he crooned, his deep voice a lullaby in the darkness.

Chrollo started at the cold touch and found a part of himself recoiling. Instinct pierced the fog and he leaned away from the hand. “I just,” he began, shaking his head at whatever it was that set him on edge. It was so hard to think, so hard to understand the signals he was getting from his body. He squeezed the glass in his hands unconsciously. There was a wince of pain, a slight sting as his palm was sliced open. Blood welled along the cut and slowly dripped onto stone. “Please let me leave.”

The change in Silva was immediate, his kind expression morphing into one of hunger. His eyeteeth seemed to elongate in the candle light and Chrollo watched in horror as the spell broke, as the man before him transformed into something inhuman.

Chrollo was not the religious type. He had never found the appeal of worship, never experienced the comfort of prayer, but in the moment of Silva lunging towards him, Chrollo did the only thing his panic ridden mind could think to do. Half-remembered prayers poured from his lips and the piece of glass, his only weapon, was dropped in favor of the tiny crucifix still tangled around his hand like a bracelet.

In that moment, Chrollo saw death and he prayed.

The effect was instantaneous.

Silva hissed as if he had been burned, darting backwards with preternatural speed. His previously enticing eyes were hard as ice, his warm expression now a snarl. Chrollo shook and looked down at his still bound hands, realizing the power of the tiny crucifix given to him by a little girl who only wished to comfort him.

Another lunge and Chrollo held out the crucifix like a shield, watching as again the fanged man was propelled back. Somewhere in his mind he struggled to find a name for the creature in front of him, the myths of his childhood blurry and so distant in the moment. “You aren’t able to touch me when I hold this,” Chrollo stated, for himself as much for the monster, prowling the outer edge of the candle light. “You can’t hurt me. I can hurt you.”

Silva growled like a wolf and inched closer, his face still animalistic but his eyes so very soft. “No, you do not need it. I will not harm you. Throw that refuse away and come to me.” The words were commanding but insidious like silk over a knife, and Chrollo felt his hands clench. The pain kept him grounded, helping him resist the urge to toss the cross into the waiting darkness and let himself be taken in. He could see how his blood enticed the beast. Stories echoed in his ears and he knew that above all, he could not allow himself to give in.

“No, monster,” he ground out, looping the thin string around his neck to settle the crucifix over his sternum. “You cannot compel me. Stop trying and leave me be. I refuse to be your meal or your plaything.” His words were much more confident now that he knew he had a defense against the darkness, though he didn’t fully cast off caution. He bit his lip and focused on freeing himself from the bindings around his wrists. The bloodied mirror shard made quick work of it, though the heavy weight of Silva’s gaze slowed him considerably. If his hands shook, he hoped the flickering light hid it.

“There is no escape from here. You won’t be strong enough to open the door. How long can you run, I wonder?” Silva paced the circle, keeping Chrollo boxed in like a wolf prowling a dying fire. “Just give in. I am kind, I would forgive you this rudeness if you only come to me.”

Again his voice took on that tingling quality, like warm cider on a cold winter evening. It sparked in Chrollo’s bones but he found it easier to ignore when he focused on the pain in his hands, in his bruised wrists.

He looked up and glared unimpressed at the monster doing its utmost to seduce him away from his cross. “I'll judge for myself whether escape is in my future or not.” With a careful shuffle, he snatched up the candle Silva had abandoned. There was no move to stop him and with that, Chrollo was off, his back against the wall and his eyes always on the silver haired beast.

Instead of following after, Silva remained behind to watch from the darkness, his eyes reflecting off the wane candlelight like an animal’s. He picked up the bloodied bit of mirror and licked the still warm mess smeared across its sharp edge and chuckled. The noise echoed off the stone and he could hear the flutter in Chrollo’s heartbeat down the hall when it reached him, fast and anxious like a rabbit’s.

It had been centuries since he had last been forced to work for his dinner. He only hoped that the chase would be as sweet as the inevitable conclusion.

oOo

Chrollo awoke with a start at the sound of creaking floorboards. He held his breath, waiting for the sound to morph into something that would tell him whether it was the old building settling or something more sinister. It was hard to keep his stomach silent when he hadn’t eaten in a day, maybe two at this point. The passage of time was nearly impossible to mark with the windows nailed tightly shut, all of the clocks he had found thus far frozen from their lack of maintenance.

Gripping his crucifix tight, Chrollo lifted himself to his feet and out of the corner he had hidden himself in. He refused to be afraid, not when he had a proven method of protection to keep himself safe. Silva hadn’t made an appearance again since their first meeting but he knew he was watching. Even now he could feel the weight of cold eyes weighing down on him. It twisted his empty stomach and left a sour taste in his mouth. He pushed the thought from his mind and focused on the present situation.

He had been able to find some water earlier, the castle containing a plumbing system that was still functional despite the decrepit outer condition of the building as a whole. But water alone wouldn’t fill his stomach, and he didn’t fancy the idea of having to outrun a monster with just adrenaline and his own will fueling his body. He needed to find food and soon.

The candle in his hand was nearly burnt out and he took a moment to swipe a candle from an ornate candelabra nearby. The castle seemed to be strewn with them, making light the least of his worries. Shivering as he walked, he began to wander through the endless halls, determined to find the kitchen or the larder. Though Silva obviously didn’t need to eat conventionally, he didn’t dismiss the possibility of something having been left behind from previous owners or victims.

He wandered for what felt like hours until he could feel the lightheadedness begin to wear him down. The wall became support more than a guide and Chrollo shook his head to dispel the sluggishness, pushing on until he met a stairwell that looked more promising than yet another stone hallway. Taking his time, he shuffled down the steep steps and found himself in front of what looked to be an ancient range. Next to it he could just make out the shadowy shape of cabinets, rusted pots and pans hanging from an overhead rack. Relief coursed through him hard enough to weaken his knees and he let himself rest against the stone counter for a moment. It didn’t take him long to recover before he began digging.

It was there that Silva found him some time late, sitting crossed legged on the floor and surrounded by an assortment of opened containers and wine bottles. It took a moment for Chrollo to notice him, occupied as he was with filling his empty stomach, and when Silva deigned to clear his throat he felt himself vindicated when he startled enough to spill wine on the cold stone floor.

“Not quite as delicate as you look, are you?” The vampire rumbled, taking in the mess he had made, the wine staining his lips and the food filling his cheeks. If he was upset by the display, he didn’t make it apparent, though the crucifix Chrollo brandished made it impossible for him to retaliate in any case.

Chrollo frowned through the food in his mouth and tucked his knees closer to his body, wary of Silva’s long arms perhaps pulling him in. “Shut up,” he retorted, swallowing the mouthful of bread and cheese and washing it down with a deep pull of the wine he had found. “I refuse to starve just so you can get an easier meal.” It was great wine, a very old vintage from before he was born, and he took special pleasure in drinking it like a rube.

Blue eyes rolled and Silva leaned against a wall, close enough to make Chrollo nervous but still far enough that he didn’t wince from the crucifix. “As I said before, you are a guest. You were never in danger of starving, I would have come to you with food before then. You’re no good to me weak and malnourish—could you be more of a child?” He interrupted himself when Chrollo began to shove more bread into his mouth, his cheeks bulging with food like a starving squirrel.

The reply was unintelligible through the mouthful and Chrollo smiled at the disgusted look on Silva’s face. He swallowed and took another drink of wine, letting it spill a little. He licked up the stray drops and felt victorious when Silva was forced to look away, his shoulders stiff.

“If you are such a kind host, then tell me, what's there around here to do?” Chrollo asked, standing up and wiping his messy hands on his trousers, like the ill-mannered bumpkin he was playing. He made no move to clean up the food still strewn about or stopper the bottle. “If I’m as trapped as I think I am, I may as well enjoy myself until you grow tired of me.”

Another deep laugh and Chrollo tried to keep from startling when the large man walked past him, stoppering the bottle himself. “You haven’t held off from sticking your dirty nose into things yet, I doubt you’ll find it hard to entertain yourself. Though you could always just play a game with me,” Silva answered with a bright lilt, his eyes flashing in the dim light. “Just cast off that cross. I promise you will not be bored.”

The eyes were just as persuasive as they were the first night but Chrollo knew better than to let them fill his head. It didn’t stop him from smiling though. “I don’t think I’d enjoy any game you’d care to play. I think I’d rather make my own fun.” With that, he eased away from the bulking figure of the monster and made his way back up the stairs, the crucifix between them at all times.

It may not be the game Silva had in mind, but they were still playing one all the same. He felt no guilt whatsoever as the sounds of cleaning echoed up the stairs as he went. Chrollo knew it was one game he couldn’t let himself lose, no matter how precarious the rules.

oOo

Loathe as he was to admit it, Chrollo found a routine forming as the days past. It wasn’t unpleasant either, which may have made it all the more bitter on his tongue. The castle was large and exploration was always an option when boredom proved more deadly than the threat of Silva. He was seeing more of the brute now, always out of the corner of his eye first to his continual surprise. They exchanged a few words here and there, but largely they kept their interactions short and focused on their respective goals.

After he found the kitchen, Chrollo felt infinitely more secure in his situation. He spent his days searching for an exit from the castle that seemed to be shut up tighter than a tomb. The food in the larder was fresh, the produce no more than a day or two old, and Chrollo knew that meant there was access to the outside. It was simply a matter of finding an opening.

The front door was abandoned quickly. Silva had been correct. The door was incredibly heavy, made of some type of solid wood and iron that was impossible to move. The windows scattered about the place were also likewise shuttered. He never spent much time trying to force them open, learning quickly that Silva seemed to have a sense for when he tried. His heart had nearly stopped the first time Silva had sneaked up behind him, his fingertips raw and bloody as he tried to pry open a shutter with his bare hands. Blood had stained the wooden crucifix when he reeled, his head already fogging from that silken voice tempting him into open arms. It only had to happen once before Chrollo wrote off escaping through one of the blocked windows.

Silva was a constant threat with his mass and his seductive eyes. Chrollo never knew when he was watching and he could never quite shake the feeling he was being watched as he wandered through the sprawling halls. He tried to keep his back against the walls as he moved, his senses on full alert for the catlike footfalls of the castle’s true occupant, but more often than not it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t count how many times he had been startled by the sudden sight of the man looming in a corner, watching him from the shadows. Even though he knew the risks of being found unsuspectingly, he still couldn’t quite help himself when he came across a locked door.

Today was one such day. Before him stood a solid door, locked tight and whispering its secrets to Chrollo as he contemplated the risk. It took no time at all to give in to the curiosity, already pulling out the leather pouch he always carried around his neck. Its new neighbor, the crucifix, hung heavy against his sternum and it was enough to give him the wherewithal to proceed.

As he rested on his knees, his lock picks prying at the ancient lock, Chrollo couldn’t resist the thought that this was how he had gotten into this mess. Thieves were never quite welcome in polite society, and when a village must decide which of its population to sacrifice to a monster, the dregs were the first to go. He was a loner with few friends and attachments, and the lack of any true family also led to their overwhelming support of his capture. He flushed a little at the thought. The superstition ran deep with them, and no family in his case had correctly indicated purity.

Once he freed himself from his prison, he would give them hell to pay. The lock clicked open and he broke away from his musings, pushing the anger aside as he opened the wooden door. He had secrets to amass and boundaries to cross after all. Revenge would wait for him.

At first glance, the room looked like many others found in the castle. It was a bedroom, large and airy, with the trappings of luxury. Little personal touches were scattered about, picture frames and a woman’s vanity off in the corner. Chrollo poked around the room, touching the soft silk bedding and the baubles that should in all rights have been dust covered and forgotten. Everything was maintained, orderly enough to have been recently maintained, and it sent a shiver down his spine, as if the room’s owner was liable to walk in on him snooping at any moment. He decided to look faster.

His eyes fixed on a solid wood trunk tucked behind the large bed, a brass lock hanging from the latch. It was a challenge that made his fingertips itch and Chrollo was never one to back away from his whims. He knelt at the chest and made short work of the tumblers, only struggling slightly to ease open the rusty hinges. It must have been the only item in the room that hadn’t recently been handled and curiosity burned in his chest.

The candle light was wane, but it still illuminated the myriad of keepsakes resting in the trunk’s depths. Chrollo lifted them carefully, taking in the sketches and photographs that were so old they felt on the verge of crumbling away into dust.

It was a family, the images spanning over the course of years. Children, solemn faced but bright eyed, stared out from the old paper, a lovely woman standing between them all. She was severe but beautiful, and it was hard to believe that she stood so confidently next to a man that could only be Silva. Chrollo couldn’t really understand what he was holding, but he knew enough to treat the memories like glass as he looked deeper into the pile.

Here there were photographs of the children playing with a large dog, the next of the family sitting in a parlor Chrollo had visited the other day. His heart stuttered as he flipped through to a section of sketches. They were all of gravestones, drawn with a care that made Chrollo more than aware of the love and the loss heavy behind the hand that drew them. He didn’t need to look for the artist’s signature. He knew who spent so much time maintaining this room and took such care locking it up.

With gentle hands he placed the mementos back where he had found them, locking the trunk as if it had never been tampered with though he had no illusions that Silva wouldn’t know. Exploration had suddenly lost its appeal and he exited the room as he had entered, taking his candle to wander back to the kitchen. The room had suddenly taken on a solemn visage, as if he had wandered into a tomb.

Wine. Wine was what he needed to drown these new thoughts swirling in his head. He only hoped that Silva hadn’t hidden it all after the last time he had gotten into it.

oOo

Time passed and Chrollo lost track of the days. He felt he had walked the entirety of the castle, explored every room that wasn’t locked and carefully asked before breaking into the ones that were. Nothing came from his prying into the photograph room, Silva never mentioning it or yelling at the invasion, though Chrollo doubted that he didn’t know. Instead, he simply chuckled when Chrollo sought him out for permission, always giving him it with minor cajoling.

The shift in their interactions was slow, still full of threats, compulsion, and the inevitable risk of exsanguination, but Chrollo could admit to it becoming civil, if only somewhat. That was more Silva’s doing than his, as he still actively sought to be as much of a nuisance as he could possibly be.

“Must you persist in being such a brat?”

Chrollo looked up from his book to Silva, his bulk taking up much of the doorway. “I wasn’t aware that reading constituted as being bratty. My, what different worlds we must come from,” Chrollo answered, swirling the glass of wine he had poured himself. It was another rare bottle, the label French and at least a few decades old. Silva glared as he sipped it and he curled himself deeper into the comfortable armchair.

It was hard for him to enter the room and still maintain a healthy distance, but somehow Silva managed it. “You are in my chair,” he nearly growled, as intimidating as he ever was. His cold eyes were locked on the vulnerable position Chrollo had put himself in, his legs hanging over the arm, delicate bare feet crossed at the ankle.

“Oh,” he exclaimed, faux surprise layering his voice. “What a terrible turn of events. However will you manage without this one chair in a castle that holds hundreds?” The smile on his face was sweet as sugar and just as cloying in the candlelight, the wine loosening his tongue to a sharp witted dagger.

So used to these types of skirmishes was he that he didn’t so much as flinch when Silva displayed his fangs.

“You test my patience, little rabbit,” he murmured, his mesmerizing eyes so powerful that Chrollo’s vision swam for a moment. “Cast aside that foolish cross and let me show you how I manage.”

For the first time in a while, be it from the wine or just his lowered guard, Chrollo found it difficult to refuse. The book clattered to the floor, falling through his lax fingers. Silva edged nearer and the proximity seemed to only intensify the compulsion. Before he could stop himself, Chrollo had dropped the crucifix. It clinked against the stone, landing maybe a foot away from the arm chair.

It was more than enough to allow Silva to approach. Chrollo laid in the chair, frozen in place by the eyes and the monster bearing down on him. His heart beat furiously in his chest, rabbit-quick, and he finally understood the nickname. Silva touched his cheek with a cold hand, taking the glass from him, and he had never felt so much like one before, trapped in a corner by this wolfish predator.

Silva must have noticed his fear and the fingers stroked his cheek, hushing him like a startled horse. “Come now, child,” he crooned, letting his hand curve around Chrollo's thin neck, thumb stroking the racing point of his pulse. He had folded himself down, kneeling in front of the armchair, his free hand stroking a shaking thigh. “You won’t feel a thing.”

Shivering at the touch, Chrollo couldn’t help but lean closer, tangling his fingers into the silk of Silva’s shirt. He wet his lips and tried to make words but found himself completely smothered in Silva’s presence, unable to do more than shake beneath the roving hands.

Cool lips pressed against his neck and Chrollo whined, pushing weakly against the arms holding him tight.

“I would have you like this, little rabbit. You would be so sweet beneath me, much better than how you behave now.”

The words were cold on his skin and tinged with something undefinable, some carnal element that Chrollo had never before felt from the man enveloping him. It was jarring. Exhilarating.

“Plea—please,” Chrollo finally managed to whisper, feeling the sharp fangs tease the delicate skin of his neck. “Silva, please don’t—”

“By why should I not?” Silva interrupted, pulling away only so far that their eyes met. His fangs were still descended, still sharp and deadly even in the wane candlelight. “Why should I not take what is mine, what has been denied to me for so long?” The hands still skimming along Chrollo’s body gave voice to the unspoken desire, his prize so much more than just Chrollo’s blood.

Chrollo shook, barely able to think with those eyes staring so deeply into his own. They were so warm now, promising so much that his traitorous body reacted to every facet of his presence. As his body heated up, the cold hands took on a delicious weight as they teased. It was so beyond anything he had ever experienced before that it took every bit of his willpower not to give in to the unknown pleasure his blue eyes promised. He had never wanted anything quite so badly before in his life.

“Please, Silva,” Chrollo whispered again, knuckles tightening in silk. He squeezed his eyes shut, convinced that there was no hope. “On your family, please don’t. Not like this.”

The effect was instantaneous. Cool hands stopped their exploring and left his body completely to pry shaking fingers from the fabric of Silva’s shirt.

“Don’t let go of that cross again, little rabbit,” Silva warned, his voice still carrying a trace of compulsion to it as he stood. He wavered at the foot of the arm chair, leaned down to press his lips to Chrollo’s breathless mouth before turning, leaving the room completely.

The moment he had stepped through the threshold, Chrollo dove to the ground, snatching up the crucifix from where it had fallen. He wrapped it around his wrist tightly and made sure that it was in no danger of slipping off, before he collapsed against the leg of the chair. Still shaking, he crossed his legs and tried to will away the reaction caused by the proximity, by the monster wearing the mask of a man.

It took longer than he would ever admit for the feeling of cool hands to leave his mind.

oOo

It was a strange thing, this nebulous sort of attraction Chrollo felt growing between himself and Silva. He wasn’t well versed in these sorts of things, his own experience nonexistent.There was something about his state of inexperience that appealed to the beast after him and if there was one thing Chrollo was, it was resourceful. Anything could be a weapon if used correctly, and there were limits to test.

It wouldn't do to allow Silva some edge over him if this were indeed another trick.

The bath steamed in the cool night air as he eased himself into the claw-footed tub, sighing as the stress coiled tight in his shoulders began to relax. It felt heavenly, warm in a way he hadn’t been in so long with the drafty stone around him sapping the warmth from his fingertips. He removed the wooden crucifix, sat it on a nearby stool so it wouldn’t get wet, and pulled his latest book to him. The room was awash in the gentle glow of the many candles he had gathered, the light casting everything with a warm golden hue that flickered ever so slightly. He read with half a mind, keeping the brunt of his focus on the flames around him.

He smiled a small smile, nothing more than a quirk of his lips, when the flames bent with a breeze. It signaled Silva’s silent entrance. Even with his preternatural grace and skill, he wasn’t able to fool the fire licking merrily along the long wicks. It had taken Chrollo almost a week to learn the tricks in picking up when Silva was near, and it was tonight that he planned to abuse them all.

A page was turned, read, and then another turned before he marked his place and placed it down next to the cross. In exchange, he picked up a cloth and a bar of some fancy soap he had found in one of his many exploratory bouts around the castle. Humming as he worked, he began washing himself.

He had just finished washing his legs, resting them on the edge of the porcelain, when he saw fit to turn and address the shadow that was Silva.

“If you’re going to lurk there, you might as well come over here and help me wash my back.”

The silence rang out after his declaration and stretched for so long that Chrollo feared maybe Silva had absconded. He frowned, folding his arms onto the edge of the tub and resting his chin on them. He was just about to abandon the idea and go back to reading when Silva stepped out of the darkness, the candle light bathing the sharp, attractive angles of his face in a gentle gold.

When he didn’t get any closer, Chrollo followed his gaze to the crucifix on the stool. Without a second thought, he batted it onto the floor and away. It clinked against the stone and Chrollo looked up into cobalt eyes expectantly, nodding to the cloth he had draped over the side of the tub.

Silva didn’t break their stare but simply unbuttoned his cufflinks and rolled his long sleeves up. His forearms were thick, muscular, and Chrollo shivered despite the warm water as he imagined the strength in them. Cloth in hand, Silva knelt beside the tub and reached for Chrollo slowly, so slowly as if he feared him darting away like the rabbit he was so fond of likening him to.

Instead of edging away, Chrollo leaned into his touch. He sighed as Silva began to wash him, his hands so very gentle against his skin. Chrollo couldn’t help but arch into it, letting out a quiet little sigh that had Silva’s hands tightening around the thin cloth.

He had almost been lulled into a daze when Silva finally deigned to speak.

“Why are you doing this?” His voice was so very quiet, mellifluous against the sound of the water and Chrollo’s breathing.

Chrollo groaned a little, leaning back into the hands when they began rubbing away the aches in his shoulders. “Because I want to see how well you can behave,” he answered, moaning a little at the pleasure-pain of the massage.

The room seemed to get hotter, Silva forcing Chrollo’s head around to look him in the eye. He took in the dark eyes, his red, wet mouth, and Silva stroked his damp fingers through black hair. Chrollo rested his cheek against the gentle hand, looking up at Silva through his eyelashes. The moment was heady, thick enough to taste, and for a moment Chrollo wondered what would happen. If he even really cared at this point.

Silva smiled, small but there, and pressed a kiss to Chrollo’s lips. It was quick, light, no more than a graze really, before he pulled back and got back to washing. Chrollo didn’t know if he wanted more, if he should turn and ask for a kiss like the one they shared before in the study. He was a mess of feelings, physical and otherwise.

It didn’t seem as if Silva noticed though, running the cloth down his arm even though he must have watched as Chrollo washed it before. Chrollo sat and let him take his time, his large hands tracing along his skin in a way that sent shivers down his spine. It was so strange, being touched so intimately by another.

His face flushed at the thought and he turned away, determined not to let Silva see.

oOo

Silva was reading when Chrollo finally gathered his courage enough to enter the study. His hands had stopped shaking finally, though the threat of regression was very real. Something of his seriousness must have shown on his face. Instead of rising to his feet, Silva just sat, his face awash in curiosity and candlelight.

Chrollo refused to shy away from meeting his eye and he took a deep breath before lifting the crucifix from around his neck. Silva’s eyes were hawk-like, drawn to the movement, and there was no time for second thoughts as he steeled himself one last time. With only a slight hesitation, Chrollo drew back his arm and threw the cross behind him as hard as he could. It clinked away somewhere in the darkness, taking the oxygen from the room as it went.

Silva sat frozen in his chair as Chrollo strode over to him, straddling him in one sinuous movement. He bit his lip, feeling his heart fluttering in his rib cage. There was no possible way to misconstrue this declaration, no way to back pedal if he found himself regretting this choice. Chrollo tensed as Silva reached to cup his cheek, his cool thumb skimming feather light over his lips. It was too little comfort for how anxious he felt and he leaned into Silva’s chest, painfully aware of how close his throat was to the fangs. He could feel the sharp smile against his skin and it was all the warning he got before Silva gave in to the offering.

It wasa impossible to hide his flinch as fangs broke skin, but he didn’t fight Silva’s hold or try to free himself from the dark embrace. Instead he wound his arms around Silva’s neck, buried his face in the silver hair, and shook apart in his grasp.

Silva appeared lost to the sensation of Chrollo flowing past his lips. His thirst, so routinely buried and ignored, had risen up to control him fully and it was more than even he could restrain. In his hands Chrollo was weightless, a pretty doll to be crushed or worshiped depending on the monster’s whims. Chrollo gasped as the latter seemed to win out, Silva tearing his mouth away to kiss him deeply.

When they broke apart it was to let Chrollo breathe and Silva rein in what little control he had left. Chrollo was easily lifted, his legs wrapping around Silva as he carried him to the bedroom faster than his human senses could truly perceive. They were on the bed and Chrollo framed by a curtain of silver hair when Silva turned Chrollo’s face to his, forced him to focus on his startlingly blue eyes.

“Chrollo.”

He didn’t continue until Chrollo acknowledged him with a nod, the most he could offer dazed as he was. “I need you to tell me this is what you want. I will not restrain myself a second time.”

Chrollo whined, confused, and tried to press himself closer. He had given in already, casting off the one protective weapon he had. It had to be enough. He stared imploringly and Silva gave in to the urge to kiss him breathless once again, pressing him into the pillows. “If you are not certain,” he granted another kiss to the open lips, “then you need to tie that crucifix around your neck as tightly as you can because I do not have the will to resist you any longer.”

More kisses fell to Chrollo’s mouth, his cheeks, his eyes, his still bleeding throat.

“Take me,” Chrollo managed to gasp as Silva laid waste to his neck and collar bone, the assault too much to resist. “Oh please, Silva, I’m yours, just take me.” His spread his thighs as wide as they could go and he rolled his hips into those above him, movements unpracticed but eager. With shaking hands he trailed his fingers down Silva’s chest, trembling as he tried to unbutton the silk shirt.

Silva only watched him struggle and fumble the pearl loop before resting his hand over Chrollo’s. His other went to touch Chrollo’s bared skin, his own shirt nearly open. It was with a smile that he brought Chrollo’s hand to his mouth, pressing his cool lips to the trembling skin.

“Have you ever been touched before, Chrollo?”

Chrollo’s face flushed bright in the flickering candlelight and he couldn’t help being defensive. “What kind of question is that?!” He pulled back his hand and set to opening the buttons with renewed vigor, the tremble mostly gone with his embarrassed resolve. There was no way he was going to let Silva consider him some helpless virgin. He had nearly opened them all when Silva seized his chin and forced their eyes to meet.

“The kind to which I would expect an answer,” Silva replied, letting a hand wander down Chrollo’s body. Every curious touch sent another ripple of shivers down Chrollo’s spine and when it stopped on his cock, Silva was treated to a pained mewl. Somehow his face burned even more at the sound. “So tell me. Are you a virgin, Chrollo?”

An answer wasn’t immediately forthcoming and Silva punished him with another cursory squeeze of his hand, sending Chrollo into fits. He was helpless to resist the pleasure, every touch so much more intense than anything he had achieved on his own. His entire body struggled to get more friction despite Silva’s firm hold.

“Please Silva, touch me,” he whined, clinging to Silva’s shirt. When his hands were pinned above his head in response, Chrollo began to get desperate.

Silva merely raised an eyebrow, trailed his fingers over the straining length still trapped in Chrollo’s trousers.

Chrollo tried to ignore it and close his eyes, but he found it only made the sensations more intense. He gave in within seconds, shuddering under Silva’s hold as he cried out, “Yes, yes I’m a virgin. Please Silva, touch me please, I’m ready, _please.”_ The proclamation was loud, needy, and Chrollo was mortified. He tried to hide his face but Silva was far too pleased with his victory to allow him something like pride.

There was a growl somewhere deep in his chest, low and loud enough for Chrollo to feel it shake him to his core. It was all the warning he got before Silva ripped through the last of Chrollo’s shirt buttons, tearing through the fabric like paper. “ _Good_ ,” he murmured against Chrollo’s throat, sinking his fangs back into the thin skin. The sudden spike of pain stung but Chrollo couldn’t help moaning as skilled hands devoured his hot, bare skin. It was heady, the combination of pleasure and pain, and he found himself bereft when Silva took only mouthfuls, pulling away to further divest him of his clothing.

The next thing to go were his trousers. Silva turned Chrollo onto his stomach and began touching every inch of skin he could reach as he ripped the fabric from his legs. Chrollo found himself a mess of noises, pleasure and embarrassment warring it out as he was worshiped. He fought to hide his face in the sheets, using his newly freed hands to hold a pillow in his arms as he strove to process all he was feeling.

There was no fighting it as Silva moved Chrollo onto his knees, exposing his ass to Silva’s discerning eye. Chrollo smothered his face in the pillow, so completely humiliated and yet still so wanting. Silva stroked his flank and pressed biting kisses down the pale expanse of skin. With each nip, Chrollo felt his thighs ease open wider.

“Wet them,” Silva commanded suddenly, bringing his fingers to Chrollo’s mouth.

The words alone sent Chrollo further into the pillow. Everything was happening so fast, every action so much to his taxed senses.

His hesitation was sundered with a quick slap to his ass.

Chrollo cried out and turned his head to let the fingers probe at his mouth, letting Silva feel the heat rising off his bitten lips before they slipped teasingly inside.

It was Silva’s turn to shiver now as Chrollo curled his tongue around the fingers, trying his best to give back just a portion of what he was feeling to the man above him. He had always been good with his mouth. He couldn't count the times he had brought Silva to the point of rage with just his wit and a clever smile. If he managed to do the same here, he could only hope it leveled the playing field just a little.

Silva held onto his patience for a few moments but pulled his fingers free with a wet pop suddenly. Chrollo chased after them for a moment until he realized exactly what he was doing. Embarrassment burned beneath his skin, an ever present reminder that he wasn't the one in control here.

Replacing his fingers with his lips, Silva set to preparing Chrollo for what was yet to come. Nervous fire licked down his spine and he tensed when the first finger slid in smoothly. Chrollo whined at the feeling, his body unaccustomed to the intrusion. Breath hitching, he writhed at the foreign sensation and Silva was forced to hold him in place by his hip.

The second went in slower, inching glacially slow to make sure that Chrollo experienced as little discomfort as possible. It was torture, being held in place as he was. Chrollo gripped the pillow in his arms and felt the fabric begin to tear beneath his fingers as he was slowly fucked. He could hardly resist the urge to thrust back but found his hip held all the tighter when he tried.

The begging started when the third finger teased his entrance, prodding at the stretched hole.

“Silva,” Chrollo gasped into the pillow, the name a desperate plea. He tried to shift to gain some leverage to make the fingers move but was denied at every turn. When he managed to steel himself enough to lift his face from the sheets, it was only to look back at Silva with damp eyes, his face flushed from his embarrassment and need.

Despite the hardships he had caused throughout their arrangement, through all of the torment and the torturous displays, Chrollo prayed that Silva couldn’t be so cruel as to deny him this. The predatory smile proved him right and Silva’s third finger joined the rest slowly but steadily. Chrollo nearly keened, his knees shaking and his arms squeezing the life from the pillow beneath him. It was still slow, still gentle and overly cautious but Chrollo felt so very full. The fingers kept teasing him, brushing against some part of him that sent lightening through his body, and Chrollo couldn’t imagine it could get any better than it already was.

By the time Silva deemed him ready, there was no hiding the sobbing. Chrollo was shaking to pieces below him, his thighs trembling in their need to move. When he pulled his fingers away Silva had to clamp down on the hip in his hand to force Chrollo into place, his body trying to bring the pleasure-coaxing fingers back. His begging had long passed the point of pitiful, now nearing heart-rending. Tears streamed from his eyes and pleaded Silva for more. The embarrassment was overshadowed completely by his want and it was more than he could bear.

Instead of gratification, Silva stroked his trembling thighs and comforted Chrollo the best he could. “I’m going to take you now, Chrollo,” he hushed, touching every inch of skin he could reach. Silva lined himself up at Chrollo’s fluttering entrance and teased him with the head of his cock, just to hear the responding mewl at the promise for more.

He could feel Silva ready himself to thrust into the waiting heat. A sudden bolt of nervous energy settled in his stomach at the thought and Chrollo lifted his face from the tear-soaked pillow to look back at him. Chrollo couldn’t imagine what his expression must look like, his cheeks still flushed and eyes hazy, but he hoped Silva would take pity on him.

“Please…” Chrollo began, barely more than a whisper. “Please be gentle.”

The plea seemed to have some effect, and Silva’s self-control was seemingly lost the moment those words passed his kiss-bitten lips. Chrollo choked as he began to press inside, every inch sinking down with an almost painful heat. Silva was merciless, holding Chrollo in place and forcing him to take what he gave him, as fast as he gave it. He was thrusting before the words had finished ringing their submission into the night and Chrollo struggled to hold himself up against the onslaught.

The heat burned through Chrollo like a wildfire he had witness years before, back when he was a child. Flames had torn through the crops, devouring all in its path. He remembered the blistering heat, the awe he had felt as it devastated the lives of the farmers. It had been beautiful, terrifying, and he moaned when Silva bent low to sink his teeth into his shoulder. Silva was a fire, consuming and growing with every mouthful he took as he fucked into him. Everything pinned Chrollo in place, leaving him nowhere to go and no relief.

For a moment, he prayed for a rainstorm.

Sheets tore and the pillow consumed his moans as the pace increased, every thrust driving him further towards the edge of desperation. His cock remained untouched and he burned to reach down, but resisted instead. “Sil-Silva, please,” Chrollo moaned, biting the sheets when that something deep inside him sent sparks down his spine. “It’s too much, please!” Every sensation seemed magnified under the bruising touch of Silva’s hands and for the first time in a while, Chrollo fought to get away. He couldn’t last, not when he was only tinder to be burned.

The attempt was pitiful enough that Silva began to laugh. With a jerk of his hand, he had Chrollo pulled back into place, so easily that Chrollo didn’t even know why he tried to resist. He dug his fingers into the mattress even as he was dragged back, whining and begging all the while that it was too much, he couldn’t take this, mercy please, _Silva_.

It fell like ambrosia-soaked prayers to a starving god and Silva turned Chrollo over, ripping the pillow from his arms when he tried to hide his face in it. Chrollo had torn through the thin fabric fully and the pillow sent downy feathers through the air. It fell like snow around them and Chrollo forgot he needed to breathe.

“If you wish to hold something, make it me,” Silva ordered, holding Chrollo by his hips. Like this he could see every thought reflected on Chrollo’s tear-stricken face, kiss the mouth that fought to tell him more while pride resisted. He rolled his hips and watched as he took Chrollo apart, “You are so beautiful like this, in my arms where you belong.”

Chrollo shook beneath him and wrapped his arms around Silva’s neck like he had been told, hiding his face in soft silver hair. At this new angle he could grind his cock into a hard abdomen, inviting Silva in deeper than he had ever been before. The words whispered in his ear drove him on and he bucked frantically, desperate for anything he could get.

Silva gripped his thighs tighter and thrust harder, the rhythm only increasing in tempo to the point where Chrollo struggled for breath. “I want you here forever like this,” Silva groaned, biting into Chrollo’s delicate neck. “You belong here, Chrollo.”

His words were so warm, so cloying that they cut through the rapid gasping he couldn’t seem to contain. Chrollo moaned and clung tighter, feeling his body coil tight like a spring. There was a moment where he tried to vocalize the feeling, to tell Silva of the burning need clawing at his seams, but there wasn’t time. Silva rolled his hips, buried himself deeper, and Chrollo burst like the pillow’s feathers scattered around the floor.

Silva fucked him through the whiteness that seemed to creep over his vision, slowing down his brutal pace to a gentle roll. He kissed Chrollo, stole the breath he fought to gain, and watched as Chrollo slowly came back down. The tears were still coming though much slower now and his expression was one of awe, of astonishment at surviving the flames still nipping at his throat.

A minute passed before Chrollo found himself capable of speech and he let another go by before attempting to, if only to enjoy the newfound ache in his bones a bit longer. He stared down at where Silva was still buried inside him, flushed deeply, and looked back up into steel blue eyes.

“Am I still a child?” he asked, trying to regain some semblance of his former cockiness. It was a decent effort but his voice wavered more and more at each thrust. Everything was overly sensitive but he could feel his body already fighting to rekindle. “After this, are you still going to consider me some brat?”

Silva laughed, low and deep. “You will always be a brat, no matter how many times I do this,” he said, punctuating it with a deliciously slow grind that had Chrollo shuddering. The reaction drew Silva’s eye and he repeated the motion. “And just look at you squirm. Already aching for more, Chrollo? I suppose the young always have energy to spare, along with that boundless ego.”

Chrollo’s face erupted in red. “Don’t hurt yourself, old man. I would hate it if you were to throw out your back trying to keep up with my youthful vigor.” His voice was weak but there was no holding back his clever tongue when challenged. Chrollo bucked into the thrusts, a little more confident now that he had some of his former fire back.

The pace went from gentle to bruising in the time it took Chrollo to grin.

“Don't think you can hide behind your crucifix anymore, little rabbit,” Silva crooned into a pierced ear, biting down on his neck when Chrollo began to cry out. “You’re in my bed now. You should be lucky to make it out unscathed, if I ever let you leave it, that is.”

There was no respite for Chrollo now, not with Silva determined to put him in his place. He held him tight and took him to pieces within seconds, whispering all the while words of comfort, of his beauty and his spirit.

Chrollo came apart over and over again, each time increasing his desperation for the night to end, for it to never stop. He was reduced to a conflicted mess of exposed nerves and it was no surprise for Silva when he lost consciousness somewhere along the way. The bed was a mess of torn sheets, blood and sweat and semen covering them both in equal measure. It was dizzying, and Silva laid himself down next to Chrollo sated in a way he hadn’t known for centuries.

As he stared at Chrollo, his face all sharp lines and dark lashes, he reached out to feel the strong pulse. Rabbit quick as it always seemed. He stroked his fingers through mussed hair, holding the small body to his chest. The sun would be coming up soon and with it his rest, but for the moment, Silva laid back and enjoyed the comforting familiarity of holding another person in his arms. It was a feeling he never wished to go without again.

Perhaps now, he wouldn’t have to.

**Author's Note:**

> ngl this one gave me so many problems and i still havent decided if i hate it or not. ill let you be the judges. let me know how you felt and check me out on tumblr (terminallydepraved) if you wanna hit me up! until next time~


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